


in a half lit world.

by riskbreakered



Series: accidents of faith and nature. [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16029476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riskbreakered/pseuds/riskbreakered
Summary: What the storm brings in.





	in a half lit world.

**Author's Note:**

> Some general spoilers up to episode 30 (even as an AU) so please be cautious.

It’s approaching closing time for the library as Beau readies to leave. After a full week of nothing but the dread smell of aging books, her excitement for the weekend is reaching its peak. She's jogging through the aisles -- quiet now and emptying of patrons, her footfalls echo through the open space -- before another employee flags her down.

Nobody _enjoys_ being summoned by management, she guesses, and Beau has never fully overcome her dislike for authority.

She reluctantly walks to the back office and stands in the doorway, crossing her arms. The seat on the other side of Dairon's desk goes unoccupied.

Dairon speaks up. "You don't need to sit, it won't take long."

"Right," Beau says guardedly. "So, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"It's been brought to my attention that the activity tracking projects for last month have had some," Dairon twirls the pen she's holding in a quick and agile motion, "tweaking, I guess you'd call it."

Beau stiffens up out of habit; she's bracing for the incoming disapproval. "Yeah," she says, and it comes out more like a grunt. The tip of her shoe kicks at the floor.

Dairon glances away from her paperwork.

"It's good work. But I should have seen that you were ready for more responsibilities here -- unless you disagree?"

Beau takes a step forward, caught off balance. She uncrosses her arms and, awkwardly, decides to shove her hands into her own pants pockets. "No, I don't," she says, trips over the words for a moment, "I mean, yeah, of course I'm ready. Bring it on, then."

Something flashes in Dairon's expression, but Beau doesn't make out what.

"Remember to check your inbox on Monday. Have a good weekend, Beauregard." She waves her hand and looks back down to her papers. Dismissal.

After a few moments of lingering near the doorway, Beau mumbles out something that sounds almost like "good evening" before making a dash for it. Fuck the rest of it, she'll worry about whatever Dairon means later.

The doors of the library are locked up to visitors and she's out of here.

Walking into the darkened lobby, she doesn't bother to check to see if Xenoth is still lurking around somewhere. She grabs her backpack from under the desk and makes a dash for the exit, using her employee keycard and badging her way out of the doors and into the night.

"About fucking time," she breathes. Practically at a jog, she makes her way across the parking lot to her vehicle. It's already beginning to rain.

It isn't until she's sitting in the driver's seat that Beau feels the weight of the day start to lift off her shoulders. The edges of her mouth lift up into a grin that feels, oddly, kind of satisfying.

She peers out the window at the large and imposing shape of the library in the dark. "Good work, huh?"

Beau mulls it over on the drive home.

*

Yasha returns to the city with the rain. She drives up to a familiar house and pulls her motorcycle into the driveway before the storm has a chance to pick up in intensity. Taking off her helmet to reveal her dark cascade of long, braided hair, she looks up to the house ahead. _It won't be an intrusion_ , she thinks to herself. After all, they welcome her back each time.

Anxiety builds in her stomach. She's never been good at this.

She makes her way over to the house and notices that the porch light is on. On a seat under the overhang roof sits Caleb, dry and unperturbed by the weather. He doesn't look up immediately. Getting closer, Yasha notices the open book in his lap.

She stomps up the porch steps, leaving a wet, muddy trail from her boots.

Caleb looks up. They exchange an awkward but familiar nod.

"...Hey."

"Hmm, it has been a while, ja?" Caleb gestures to the empty seat beside him.

Yasha glances through the window by his shoulder. She catches sight of familiar people moving around inside. Nervous again, she moves to sit. (Caleb, as usual, seems to understand.)

"It has," she says, stumbling over the words, "been a while, I guess. Umm...so how are things? Good?"

Caleb bookmarks his reading spot. The both of them gaze out into the yard, watching the rain. "Very good. Our motley group of assholes has been doing quite well for the past few, ah, months has it been?"

Yasha shrugs lower in her seat, and she's tall enough to kick out and touch the porch's wooden bannister. She is aware of Caleb's powerful memory for details, and knows he doesn't really need to ask.

After a moment of Yasha's silence he speaks up again. "Everyone will be glad to see you." She watches as Caleb turns toward the line of cars in the driveway. "And Beauregard is home now, as well, I think."

"Maybe," Yasha blandly agrees, glancing over her shoulder toward the window suddenly before she thinks to stop herself. It isn't her nerves making her jumpy, per say, but...

"Come on," Caleb urges her. He tucks his book under his arm and moves to stand. "The rain is picking up."

Yasha nods and follows.

*

Beau maneuvers around Caduceus toward the refrigerator. Stepping around his tall and gangly form, she looks to the stove long enough to see him put the kettle on for tea.

"Come on, man," she says (has mentioned before and likely will again). "It's Friday, loosen up."

"Ahh, of course," he answers in his deep, thoughtful voice. Reaching up into the cupboard high above the stove, his long fingers hesitate and reach for a different tea jar. Something bright and floral-looking, Beau observes with an inward sigh.

"Nevermind," she groans at him, and reaches into the refrigerator for two bottles of beer. She escapes from the in-progress tea time and back toward the living room.

In her defense, the volume of the television is loud enough to cover the sounds of the front door. Jester's squeal of delight and surprise could easily have been from the mma fight they're watching -- and even now, looking across to the screen, Beau recognizes the defeated and bloodied fighter getting dragged out of the ring.

But the stir of motion coming from the doorway and everyone's turned heads makes her look away. She sees Caleb, taking off his shoes and putting on a pair of worn-out slippers. And behind him...

"Yasha!" Jester raises up her arms in excitement. "Why didn't you text me that you were coming? We could have thrown you a welcome back party!"

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Fjord says in good nature (while Caleb makes a face in response). He waves from his seat on the sofa.

Nott makes a pleased sound from her place on the floor. "I could have easily deduced this was going to happen, you know. Are you and Caleb coming to join us now?"

"Ja, the weather is fucking terrible outside," Caleb says, gesturing to the darkness outside the window and the muffled sound of rain and thunder.

"It's not so bad," Yasha says mildly, slipping out of her boots. Her soaked leather jacket dangles from a peg near the door.

Beau watches Caleb move over to his chair, giving her a better look as Yasha stands awkwardly in the entryway. She crosses her arms (her biceps still looking real good, even under the thick grey flannel sleeves), but her expression remains a mystery.

Her hair is slightly damp from the rain.

Beau realizes she's been staring quietly in the opposite hallway, if only because Fjord and Jester are turning their attention Beau's way and giving her a Look.

"Fuck yeah, right? Absolutely."

She blurts out a response to a question she didn't even pay attention to and uses the sudden momentum to force herself into walking forward. She hands Fjord the other beer bottle she's carried over and plops down on the seat beside him.

Her blue eyes snap immediately to the television. Beau twists off the bottle cap and takes a large drink -- a transparent attempt to act cool.

At least until Jester starts lobbing popcorn in her direction.

*

Yasha feels relief, for the most part. Regardless of her earlier anxiety, she is easily welcomed back into the fold. Conversation moves easily between the others and she keeps herself mostly quiet, making a comfortable place for herself to stretch out on the floor.

Frumpkin finds her after a while, and he wastes little time in curling up in her lap. Nott agrees to share her blanket as well. Yasha suspects this is a ploy by both to get closer and take advantage of her body heat.

(Jester makes an observation that they've become a cuddle pile -- and Yasha doesn't know enough about the subject to argue it.)

It's...nice being back, she decides. And the mma fights on screen are bloody and exciting enough to draw much of the group's attention. Only once does she glance over to Caduceus (sitting calmly with a mug of tea, just in the seat where Molly might once have been).

She tries making eye contact with Beau several times, almost speaks up to ask -- but is drowned out by the others yelling as the opponents on television begin to grapple.

Weirdly frustrated, she fidgets with the ripped knee of her jeans until the feeling passes.

The evening moves on, and eventually winds down. Caleb takes his book and calls it a night. Beau says something about "taking a piss" but never returns. Nott and Frumpkin fall asleep in a small pile.

By the time Fjord stands up to turn off the television, it's just the two of them. "Things are still upstairs, just as you left 'em, Yasha. You know you're welcome here for however long you want, right?"

"Sure," Yasha agrees, standing up off the floor and meeting him eye to eye. She reaches over and turns off the nearby lamp.

"I'm serious, you are always one of us. And I know the others feel the same."

She's never been one to enjoy showing... feelings, and things like that. But she gives him a nod.

She didn't ask him for it, but it's still comforting to hear. Before she turns to head upstairs, however, she can't help but ask. "Do you think...Beau is mad at me?"

Fjord, in mid-reach to turn off the light switch, gives her a dumbfounded blink. "Fuck, no. What gave you that impression, Yasha?"

He genuinely looks confused and it's enough for Yasha to shake her head and feel awkward again.

"It's nothing. Goodnight, Fjord. And...thanks."

He gives her a smile and turns off the light. They go off on separate ways.

*

She opens the door to her room. It's the highest up in the house, high enough to hear the full force of the storm outside as the rain batters down against the roof. She remembers now how much she used to like it.

There isn't much up here, what's hers. A low-sitting bed, a crate-as-nightstand, with a small lamp she moves to switch on. Light illuminates the small stack of books, a small set of dresser drawers, and a flashy, ornamental sword Molly had bought as a gift one year.

She doesn't have anything to unpack.

Yasha opens the window by her bed, just enough to let the evening air in. To smell the cool scent of rain. It's solitary up here in the attic room, but it isn't uncomfortable.

After all, everyone who she cares for rests down in the house below her. Peaceful, happy, safe.

She lies on top of the covers of the bed, looking up at the ceiling. She allows herself to feel a sense of contentment -- of belonging.

Yasha feels the weight of her phone against her thigh and takes it out of her pocket. She flips open to her camera photos, those few she had taken before -- and some Jester had taken for her. Some of Molly, some of everyone together (out for drinks, out for mischief), and...well, maybe one of Beau. She hadn't taken it herself, but she hadn't exactly deleted it either so there wasn't much distinction now.

Yasha herself is in the background of the photo, preoccupied with a garden box she was trying to build in the backyard. She remembers the handfuls of dirt, the sweat beading against her skin gained from under a hot summer sun. Jester and Beau must have been sitting together on the back porch, resting under shade -- the faint outline of Jester's skirt is hinted at the bottom of the picture.

But most of the image is Beau. Not the Beau she usually sees, but one with an expression that's...well, Yasha isn't the best with placing emotions, but it looks nice.

She sighs, remembering the events that just transpired downstairs. How it made her feel, seeing Beau again but in a way that was frustrating, unsatisfying.

Molly would've known what it meant, what to do. Maybe he'd have urged Yasha to talk with her, and maybe he'd be right.

But that's an action for later. For now, all she needs is rest.

*

Beau has trouble falling asleep that night. She wants to tell herself it's just adrenaline from watching the fights -- and already she's making up her mind to go on a run and to the gym for a work out and hopefully a spar. But also, she knows that reason is bullshit.

The continuous sound of rain outside her window doesn't help either.

She shifts around in bed, twisting her sheets in knots. Her phone buzzes on her night stand and she reaches over.

It's a text from Jester, her own room not far away.

("yasha's back!! are you excited?? ;3")

Beau swears and tosses her phone away.

*

She slips out early the next morning for her run. Beau is groggy and her limbs feel heavy as she stretches out on the outside porch steps. Her exercise habits are routine enough that she doesn't consider any interruption, any change.

She thinks mostly on breakfast, at least until her gaze runs along the driveway ahead and falls over the motorcycle parked at the end. Like the final piece of a puzzle picture now put into place.

There is a rightness to it that she doesn't feel bothered to examine.

She moves to stand when she feels awake, maybe not fully but enough to make things work, but doesn't make it more than a step before the door behind her creaks open.

“Beau?”

She looks over shoulder. Yasha earns a quick grin -- but Beau doesn't have the energy to stop from reacting to the jacket slung over her shoulder. As if to leave.

It's a clumsy stumble, and she corrects it with her usual serious expression.

“Hey, Yasha,” she says, reaching out for a proper greeting. “Did you, uhh, have a good night?”

Yasha's expression is hard to read. “It was nice,” she says vaguely. Beau just nods dumbly in response.

“Are you running away?” Yasha shakes her head. “I mean, are you going out for a run?”

Beau crosses her arms, without noticing, an imitation of the woman across from her. Yasha looks even taller and more imposing, staring down at her from the porch. With anyone else she might've taken it as some kind of challenge simply by instinct -- but mostly she loses focus on how familiar Yasha's gray henley shirt looks. Was it the soft one, with the wine stain on the cuff?

“Gotta stay in shape, right?”

*

“I guess so?”

Yasha tries to shake the strange frustration from earlier. It needles under her skin again, at the sight of Beau leaving before -- before, well, something. She can't find the words, but the feeling persists.

It's difficult to piece together, exactly, what is bothering her. Instead, she reaches down for the folded up paper in her pocket. She steps down the stairs and holds it out.

“Say, do you…” She thinks over the words. “Have you heard of this place before?”

She watches Beau’s expression shift as she eagerly takes the paper.

“Huh?” 

(Yasha takes a breath--)

“Oh! Yeah, it's not too far from my gym. I mean I've never like gone in, but.” Yasha sees her expression change again. “Are you buying something or…?”

“There was a job listing, so...I applied.”

“Cool, cool.”

Yasha catches herself in mid-reach to take back her piece of paper. She thinks it over for a moment. “If you wanted, maybe you can show me where it is?”

Beau nods along as she speaks, then suddenly she startles as if slapped out of a daydream. “Right, fuck, sure I can help out! Did you want to…”

Yasha watches her gesture toward the parking lot. “We could take my bike?”

Beau's expression goes on a journey from Yasha's jacket to her motorcycle and back to Yasha's face. 

She looks...excited?

*

Beau goes through a number of epiphanies on her journey directing Yasha around the city. As the motorcycle growls to a stop outside a flower shop oddly named _The Grand Duchess_ , she settles on the realization that indeed, Yasha's shirt is as soft as it looks. 

She moves to stand away from the bike only hesitantly. 

“This is it,” she says in confirmation. Yasha takes back her helmet and jacket as they are presented -- again, with some hesitation. Both, but especially the leather jacket, strike Beau as distinctly smelling of Yasha.

She thinks of it on the drive over, guesses at the number of seedy rock bars and dirty nightclubs it has seen, the blood and beer and cigarette smoke seeped into its folds. Adventures on the road and close calls that the rest of their group can only guess at.

Equal doses of danger and mystery (and maybe she's romanticizing a little, or a LOT, but…).

“Good luck on the job, Yasha.” She gives a nod. “You got this, yeah?”

Yasha looks up at the shop, her expression clouded. But when she turns to address Beau her face almost seems to soften a little. Maybe it's in her imagination, but the hand that touches Beau's shoulder is real, and her own smile is genuine as Yasha gives a light and awkward squeeze. Practically a bear hug, coming from this particular source.

“Thanks, Beau.”

*


End file.
